Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Hey Bartender Part 2-Dylan O'Brien

As our lips moved in sync, I tasted the beer on his lips but I didn't care. I moaned as he pressed me against the door. He pulled away, instantly starting to kiss my neck.

"I know we shouldn't be doing this," he mumbled against my neck.

"I don't care," I said cutting him off. I grabbed his face and pressed his lips to mine. I moaned as his hands went up and down my back. I gasped as his hands cupped my ass.

"Are you going to invite me in or are we just going to make out on your front porch?" He mumbled against my lips. I pulled away and smirked at him. I reached behind me, opening the door and kicking it the rest of the way open.

Our lips instantly pressed together and moved in sync. He moved his hands down until they cupped my ass. I smirked against his lips as I jumped up, him instantly catching me. I started sucking on his neck as he led us down the hall.

"Door at the end of the hall," I mumbled against his neck. "On the left." I pressed my lips back to his as he walked into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed, without breaking the kiss.

He used his hands to press me against his chest as he leaned back, making us fall back onto the bed. We pulled apart enough to reposition ourselves. I was about to lean down and press my lips to his when the look on his face made me stop.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"We can't do this," he whispered. I looked away, my cheeks burning from embarrassment.

"I. . . I understand," I stuttered. "I'm not the kind of girl you usually. . ."

"No," he said quickly, cutting me off. "That's not. . . That's not what I. . . Y/N, I really like you. And that's why I can't do this."

"You like me?" I asked, my voice getting caught in my throat.

"Yeah," he smiled. "I really like you. In fact. . .  I love you, Y/N."

My heart jumped into my throat as he looked at me like no one has ever looked at me. Before I could say anything else he added, "But I shouldn't."

"You shouldn't?" I said under my breath.

"Of course I shouldn't," he sighed as he reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. "You're engaged, Y/N."

My heart dropped as the guilt returned. "No, Dylan. It's. . . I. . . I should explain. . ." I stuttered.

"Y/N?" He asked, tilting his head slightly. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I have to tell you something," I said quickly as I looked away.

"Okay," he said slowly.

I looked at him, my breath getting caught in my throat. The feeling I got from how he was looking at me, gave me the courage to finally say the secret I've kept for years.

"I'm not engaged."

"You're what?"

"I'm not really engaged, Dylan. It's just a fake ring," I explained. "I wear it at the bar to keep the drunks from trying to sleep with me. It's just a stupid tactic I use to keep men away from me."

"It's fake?"

"Yes," I nodded. I bit my lip as I could practically see the wheels turning.

"You're not really engaged?"

"Nope."

"There is no fiancé?"

"No, Dylan," I said with a small laugh. "It was all fake. I'm not engaged. There is no fiancé. I am not getting married."

I watched as a smile formed on his lips. He reached up and put his hands on the back of my neck, pulling me down to him. Our lips moved in sync as he reached up and grabbed the bottom of my shirt. I smirked down at him and helped him pull it over my head and toss it to the side.

I reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. I smirked as he switched our positions. He hovered over me with a smile on his face. I held my breath as I noticed the lust in his eyes.

"Can I be honest with you?" He asked suddenly.

"Of course," I said as I tried to catch my breath.

"Every night, when Tyler and I were getting hammered, I would watch you pour drinks as guys hit on you. Whenever one of them started to go too far, I had to resist the urge to do something. But when you mentioned your fiancé. . . I would get this overwhelming feeling of jealously and. . .protectiveness. I would also feel guilty."

"Guilty?" I asked. "Dylan, why would you feel. . ." Before I finished my question, I already knew the answer.

He felt guilty because of his girlfriend and my fake fiancé.

"The thing is, Y/N," he stuttered. "I only ever felt guilty for a second. Then I would look up at you and. . ." He didn't finish his thought, but he didn't have to.

Without another word, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. My hands slowly dancing up his chest as our lips moved in sync. I bit my lip when Dylan moved and started kissing my neck.

"Tell me if you don't want to do this and we'll stop," he whispered into my ear. He pulled away and pressed his forehead against mine.

"I want to do this," I whispered back.

"Good," he said as he grabbed my left hand. I let out a small laugh as he looked down at my hand and brushed his thumb over my fake engagement ring, slowly beginning to slide it off.

"But first, let's get this off of you."